


The Way to Comfort

by wesleysgirl



Series: On Life and Living [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-27
Updated: 2012-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-06 02:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleysgirl/pseuds/wesleysgirl





	The Way to Comfort

  


  


Rodney's mother dies on a Tuesday. He finds out shortly after he gets to work, but John doesn't find out until later that afternoon, when he comes home to find Rodney's car in the driveway and Rodney sitting at the kitchen table. The phone's next to his elbow, and he's still wearing his jacket even though the house is plenty warm, which more than anything else clues John in that something's wrong.

"Hey, buddy," he says, and Rodney doesn't look up. "Rodney?"

"My mother died," Rodney says. "This morning. They think it was a stroke."

"Shit," John says, which as far as expressions of condolence go falls pretty short of the mark. He goes to Rodney. "I'm sorry."

Rodney shakes his head, and pulls away when John reaches for him. "I have to call my sister."

"Rodney... hey..." John wants to be stubborn about it because he knows this is one of those times when you're supposed to get the other person to open up, but he remembers what it was like when people were trying to get him to _talk_ , to _grieve_ , and he couldn't. "Okay," he says instead. "What can I do?"

"We made the arrangements a while back," Rodney says. "It's all set up. I already called the funeral home -- she wanted an open casket, which I personally think is gruesome, not to mention vain, but it's what she wanted, and I don't suppose there's anything else I can do at this point but honor her wishes. It'll be this weekend. The wake, and the funeral, I mean." He delivers this entire monologue without looking up. "I have to tell Jeannie," he says again. But he doesn't move.

"She doesn't know?" John wishes he could take that back as soon as he's said it. "Do you... do you want me to call her?" It's a serious offer -- he wouldn't make it if it wasn't -- but deep down he's hoping Rodney says no. Not for him, but for Rodney and his sister and the tentative relationship they've been building together.

"Yes," Rodney says, then rubs a hand over his face. "No. No, I need to do it." He picks up the phone. He puts the phone down again. Picks it up.

"You want me to give you some privacy?" John asks. He thinks he knows Rodney well enough after the past year together to guess the answer, and he's right.

"No. No, I'm calling." Rodney dials, closing his eyes as he presses the phone to his ear. The pause seems long to John before someone picks up the other end of the line. "Jeannie? It's me. I... Mom died." His throat works as he listens to his sister's response. "I know. I know." Rodney's voice breaks, and there are tears clinging to his lashes. He blinks them away furiously, quiet as he listens to whatever Jeannie is saying; John imagines her comforting him. "Yeah." Rodney sniffles.

John goes over to the shelf where there's a box of tissues and takes it to Rodney.

"Okay. Yeah. I'll talk to you later." Rodney's crying for real as he hangs up, fighting it with one hand over his face. John, helpless, stands behind him and wraps both arms around his shoulders, lips pressed to his hair, and holds him. Rodney's shaking.

"I'm so sorry," John murmurs, because that's one thing he can say, even if it doesn't help.

Rodney clears his throat. Then again. "It's for the best. She wouldn't... she wouldn't have wanted to live like that."

From everything Rodney's told John about his mom, that's true enough. And the way she's been for the past however many years... no one would choose to live like that, John thinks. He'd gone in with Rodney to see her a couple of times, and she wasn't even coherent enough to have a conversation with. The last time, she'd reached out and patted John's hand before they left. "Good boy," she'd said, as if he was a little kid she'd been taking care of. "You be good now." John had promised her he would be.

"Doesn't mean you're going to miss her any less," John says.

"I've been missing her for years," Rodney says angrily, and gets up. "I have to go do some work. The first half of the day's already shot to hell." He grabs the box of tissues on his way, though, and John hears him blowing his nose as he goes up the stairs.

As much as John wants to comfort him, he knows more about this -- this process -- than he wants to, and he knows he has to let Rodney deal with it his own way. He sighs and goes to meet Kayla.

Kayla gets off the bus with a happy smile on her face, but it fades as soon as she sees John's. "Daddy?" she says uncertainly.

"It's okay," John says, hugging her tightly when she comes to him.

"What happened?" She's scared, and John hastens to reassure her with more details.

"We're okay," he says. "Rodney's okay. But his mom died this morning. He's... pretty sad."

Kayla nods. She knows about this, too. "Was she sick?" she asks, as they start walking back toward the house.

"Not really," John says. "Not with anything new." They've talked before about Rodney's mom, although he and Rodney never took Kayla to see her.

"She was sick in her brain," Kayla says slowly. "She couldn't remember things."

"That's right. And sometimes, when people get sick in their brains like that, their bodies kind of stop working, too. Rodney's mom had something called a stroke."

"What's a stroke?"

John wishes there was a book that conveniently explained all this. "It's when a blood clot stops the rest of the blood from going where it's supposed to."

"Oh. Did Rodney cry?" Kayla asks.

John nods and feels her hand slip into his. "Not a lot."

"Girls cry more. More than boys." Kayla considers this. "Do boys cry more than grown ups?"

"I don't know," John says. "Everyone's different."

"You cried when Mommy died."

"I did," John agrees. "A lot." Not so much in front of Kayla, when he'd been able to avoid it, and he'd probably cried more for Elizabeth before she died than after.

"Is there a funeral?"

"Yeah. And a wake." John looks at her; she's worried, but not teary. "You don't have to go if you don't want to."

"Do people like going to wakes? And funerals?" she asks.

"Now we're back to 'everyone's different'," John tells her. "I guess some people do. And sometimes it's nice to have lots of your friends and family around, if you're upset."

Kayla thinks about this. "So people go because they want to help the other people? The ones who are sad?"

It shouldn't surprise John anymore when his daughter is perceptive, but it still does. "Uh-huh."

"Then I want to go. To help Rodney," she says, determined. "Will she be there? In a coffin? Will she be all... gross?"

Head spinning, John tries to answer. "Yes, I think so, and no, she won't be gross. She'll have her eyes closed. It'll look like she's sleeping."

"Okay." That seems good enough for Kayla.

As they go up onto the porch, John says, "I think Rodney needs some time alone right now, okay? He's trying to get some work done."

Kayla frowns. "I thought he was sad."

"He is," John says. "But sometimes, when people are sad, they want to stop thinking about the stuff that's making them sad. Kind of like taking a break."

"Like when we went to Disney World?" Kayla asks.

"Just like that," John says. They'd gone to Disney a few months after Elizabeth died, and Kayla still talks about it sometimes. It's a good memory from a time when so many of them weren't.

"Maybe Rodney wants to go to Disney World." Kayla sounds hopeful.

"We'll talk to him about it later," John promises, and they go inside.

When Kayla's sitting at the table doing her homework, he checks on Rodney; creeps up the stairs to the new office quietly, not wanting to disturb him if he's actually managed to lose himself in work. But Rodney's standing at the window that looks out onto the driveway, eyes distant like he's not really seeing anything. At some point he took off his jacket -- it's thrown carelessly over the back of one of the desk chairs -- and his sleeves are pushed up, baring his forearms.

"Hey," John says gently, going to him.

"I can't concentrate," Rodney says. He turns desperate eyes on John, and John gets what Rodney's not saying immediately.

"Your mom just died," he says. "You can't expect things to be the same."

"They _have_ to be the same," Rodney says. "I have to be able to... if I can't work..." He's just standing there, not moving, shoulders slumped and his hair kind of mussed up and for a few seconds John can see what Rodney's going to look like when he's _old_ , and weirdly instead of freaking John out it makes him feel strong and capable, like he can make everything better.

He puts his arms around Rodney and they stand there. It's getting dark outside, and it'll be dinnertime soon. The room still has that new-paint smell to it; it's only been a couple of months since the addition of the garage and office space has been done.

"Rodney?" It's Kayla's voice, small and unsure from the doorway.

Rodney doesn't pull away, but he lifts his face a little bit so he can answer. "Yes, what?"

"I need help with my math homework," she says. "Would you help me?"

"Oh, for God's sake, nothing would get done in this house if I didn't do it," Rodney says, but he seems a little more relaxed when he pulls away from John and goes downstairs to help.

Later, after Kayla goes to bed, there's another phone call with Jeannie that leaves Rodney pale and worn out, flung across the mattress with the handset resting on his stomach, t-shirt rucked up to reveal a strip of skin above his boxers.

"Want me to hang that up?" John offers, gesturing at the phone.

"Sure." Rodney holds it out to him. When John comes back, Rodney hasn't moved.

"How's Jeannie?" he asks.

"Her mother just died. How the hell do you think she is?" Rodney snaps, but there's no heat behind it, and right now John would forgive him almost anything anyway. He doesn't say anything, just strips down to his shorts and shoves at Rodney until Rodney sighs and moves over to make room for him. When the lights are out, Rodney sighs again. "She cried," he offers, like an apology.

"There's nothing wrong with that," John says, and helps Rodney tug the covers out from under him.

Settled, Rodney lets John pull him closer. "It's weird," he says.

"What?"

"I thought it would be a relief." John nods against the back of Rodney's neck, and Rodney pats his hand, knowing that he understands. "It's not."

"You can be sorry for yourself at the same time you're glad for her," John tells him. "Like you said before; she wouldn't have wanted to live like that. Maybe she wasn't in physical pain, but..."

"She was lost," Rodney says. "She's been lost for years. At least she didn't know it, most of the time." He squirms around until he's facing John. "When she did, though... that was bad. The worst."

John knows that right now what Rodney really needs is reassurance. "Yeah," he says, sliding a hand around to the back of Rodney's neck and rubbing his thumb against the side of it. "I'll bet."

Rodney lets his breath out in a rush, relaxes, and kisses John with a mouth that tastes like the pasta sauce they had at dinner, because there's no tragedy so upsetting that it will take away Rodney's appetite. At least there's something comforting about that. "I just need to get some sleep," he says. "I have to meet Jeannie at the funeral home tomorrow -- I know everything was supposed to be arranged, but apparently that doesn't mean much to people in that business. Or maybe they just need us to sign six thousand forms."

"Probably," John says. "I can go with you, if you want." It's strangely comforting to go through this again when it's not someone he loved who's dead.

"Don't you have to work?" Rodney asks.

John shakes his head. "I talked to Peter this afternoon; he said I can take the rest of the week off as long as I make up the hours before the end of the year."

It's quiet enough that John thinks Rodney is going to refuse, but in the end he just says, "Thanks," and sighs again, and a few minutes later he's asleep, snoring softly.

 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Jeannie meets John and Rodney in the parking lot outside the funeral home. Next to each other, it's obvious that Rodney and Jeannie are brother and sister -- they have the same mouth and jaw, and they're wearing pretty much the same expression -- strained but determined, John decides.

"Hi," Jeannie says. She hugs John first. Having her arms around him is strange, but she smells good.

"Hi," John says. "I'm sorry about your mom."

"Thanks." Jeannie pulls back and wipes her eyes, then hugs Rodney. Rodney stands there stiffly for the first few seconds, then relaxes and pats his sister's shoulder.

"No Kaleb?" Rodney asks.

"It's not like there's anything he could to help," Jeannie says. She gives John a guilty look. "I didn't mean -- "

"It's okay," John tells her gently. He knows if Rodney didn't want him there, Rodney would have said so. Many times, possibly accompanied by mild profanity.

They go inside and meet the funeral director, who looks like he could use a personal shopper even to John, who doesn't know anything about fashion except what's comfortable and looks good. This guy's suit is a size and a half too big and his tie looks like it's supposed to go with a different shirt than the one he's wearing. He's nice, though, in a way John hadn't thought it was possible for funeral directors to be nice. Genuine-nice, not phony. His eyes are sad, which makes sense considering this is what he sees all the time, grieving families and dead bodies, and he's soft-voiced and sympathetic.

Rodney, no surprise, hates him on sight, and does a shitty job of hiding it. It's one of the things John loves about him -- the brutal honesty. You never need to wonder where you stand with Rodney; he always lets you know. But he's trying, probably for Jeannie, who seems too distracted to notice one way or the other. The two of them answer questions and sign a stack of papers half an inch high and John sits there, sometimes laying his hand on the small of Rodney's back when Rodney leans forward, sometimes resting it on Rodney's thigh. Rodney fidgets through the hour and a half they're there, shifting in his seat, drumming his fingers on the ornate arms of the chair.

"Oh, thank god," Rodney says when they finally step out into the sunshine. "Is it just me, or did that place even _smell_ like death?"

"Nice, Rodney," Jeannie says. She doesn't sound annoyed, though. Just tired.

John checks his watch -- it's almost noon. "You two want to go have lunch?"

"I can't," Jeannie says. "I have to go pick up the dry cleaning."

"It'll still be there later," Rodney says.

"Yeah, but I want to make sure it's okay. It's Kaleb's good suit, you know?" Jeannie tucks her hair back and sighs. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"Okay," Rodney says. He hesitates for only a second before he moves in to hug her. "Tell the kids I say hi."

"I will." Jeannie gets into her car and drives away, leaving Rodney and John in the parking lot.

"Lunch?" Rodney says hopefully, and John grins and takes out his car keys.

 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"Are you sure she won't be... oogy?" Kayla whispers loudly from the back seat. She's wearing a new dress for the wake; it's navy blue instead of black. John asked Jeannie for advice and she insisted that black is too depressing for kids.

"I'm sure," John whispers back, since they're apparently pretending that Rodney can't hear them even though they're all in the same car -- Rodney's -- on the way to the funeral home. They've already had this discussion a couple of times. Really, he's just glad she went with a slightly nicer word than 'gross.' In a normal voice, he says, "You don't have to look at her if you don't want to, okay?"

" _I_ don't want to look at her," Rodney says. "In case I haven't said so with enough insistence for it to have sunk in, I want to be cremated when I die."

"You're not going to die," Kayla says, alarmed.

"Of course I am, someday," Rodney says.

" _No_ , you're _not_ ," Kayla says, almost shrill. " _Daddy._ "

"It's okay," John tells her, glaring at Rodney for not being more sensitive. "Rodney's not going to die for a long, long time, honey."

"He's _not_ ," Kayla says. She's crying now. "He's _never_ going to die. _Never_."

"Rodney, pull over," John says.

"Are you _kidding_ me?" Rodney says. "We're on the way to my dead mother's _wake_. Don't you think it's going to look bad when we show up late?"

Kayla wails in the back seat, and John knows what's coming next.

" _Pull over_ ," he growls, and Rodney does.

When Kayla's done being disgustingly sick on the side of the road -- John holds her hair back, and she's done this enough times in the past, even if it's been a while, that she doesn't even get any on her shoes -- John takes one of the two clean handkerchiefs from his pocket and wipes her eyes. She's still crying.

"Do you have to be such a jerk?" he asks Rodney, who's just standing there.

"Hello? Dead mother?" Rodney sounds outraged. "Shouldn't you be, I don't know, cutting me a little slack here?"

Kayla sniffles against John's side and mumbles something.

"What? What now?" Rodney says. "You'd better make sure you don't have to throw up again before we get back in the car, because there's no _way_ you can get the smell of vomit out of upholstery."

Turning her face toward Rodney, Kayla says, enunciating carefully through her tears, "I don't want you to _die_."

Rodney's expression goes from annoyed to touched. He crouches down and tugs Kayla toward him; she goes willingly, throwing her arms around his neck and holding on. Rodney pats her back and hair and murmurs reassurances. "Hey, I'm not going to die, okay?"

"Promise?" Kayla asks.

And Rodney, cementing John's love for him forever, says, "I promise."

 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Kayla's fine at the wake but doesn't want to go to the funeral, so John calls her friend Emily's mom and asks if she can spend the morning there. The mom, whose name is either Sheena or Xena -- John's known her socially for a couple of years so it's embarrassing to ask for clarification now, so he's perfected the art of talking to her without ever saying her name -- seems confused about exactly whose funeral it is, and it doesn't seem like the time to go into the complexities of his gay relationship, so John doesn't. He just thanks Sheena/Xena and leaves his cell phone number with her, just in case.

The funeral is short -- it turns out Rodney's mother wasn't all that religious, which shouldn't come as a surprise. Rodney doesn't cry. Jeannie does, just a few tears, but holding it in makes her eyes and nose all red. Kaleb is solicitous, keeping his arm around her the whole time. Their kids Madison and Derek are there, looking somber, but John's pretty sure they didn't know their grandmother very well -- they're really just reflecting the moods of everyone around them. There aren't a lot of people; just enough so that it doesn't seem sad that hardly anyone cared. John can't help but compare it to Elizabeth's funeral, when he'd been numb, almost frozen, and there'd been so many people it had seemed like the cemetery -- bigger than this one, anyway -- went on forever.

He sticks close to Rodney, shakes hands when he's re-introduced to a lot of the same people he met the night before and will probably never see again, and smiles just enough. There are a few distant relatives, and John's pretty sure by the way they look at him that they know about him and Rodney. Rodney's tense and miserable, anxious for it to be over, and more than once his fingers clutch briefly at John's waistband, squeezing a handful of dress slacks and new leather belt like he's reassuring himself that John's still there.

When everyone clears out and it's just Rodney and John and Jeannie and her family, standing around in the cold mid-October weather, Rodney tucks his hands into his pockets and looks out across the rows of gravestones. "Well," he says.

Jeannie sniffles and exhales shakily. "I guess we can go," she says. She's wearing a knitted hat the same muted blue-gray as her eyes, the same color as the sky. "Kids? Come on." They're over at a nearby headstone, tracing the lettering with their fingers and talking quietly, and they straighten up and come over right away. Jeannie hugs John and then Rodney, Kaleb shakes their hands, and the four of them go off to their car, leaving John and Rodney alone.

John touches Rodney's sleeve, but Rodney doesn't look at him. "Buddy?"

Rodney's eyes are glittering, full of unshed tears. John puts a hand on Rodney's cheek and turns his face, and Rodney just keeps moving until his arms are around John and he's hugging him so tightly that it's a challenge to breathe.

"Hey," John says, patting Rodney's shoulder awkwardly with the hand that's not pinned to his side. "I'm right here, okay?"

Rodney nods against John's neck, but doesn't say anything.

John tries to remember which kinds of things made him feel better. He can't. "I'm not going anywhere. Whatever you need."

" _You_ ," Rodney says.

"Well, that's easy." John rearranges them, getting his arm free so he can hold Rodney the way he wants to. "You've got me."

"For good?" Rodney pulls back and looks at him.

John knows what Rodney's asking, and it's not a hard question to answer, not at all. "Yeah," he says gently, looking into Rodney's eyes and telling himself firmly that Rodney will never have to ask that again. "For good."

Hugging him again, Rodney chokes a little bit, fighting sobs, and John rubs his back.

"I'm sorry you didn't know that," he murmurs. "This isn't... you and me, this isn't a fling. Jesus, you moved in. We built an addition on my house. _Our_ house. I _love_ you." They aren't easy words to say, because talking about how he feels isn't something that John's any good at. He tries to show how he feels instead, and he thinks he does a pretty good job at it, but obviously there are times when he's falling short if Rodney didn't know that this is forever.

When Rodney finally pulls away, rubbing his face, he gives John a look that's both grateful and exhausted. "I suppose that means I'm stuck with you," he grumbles, and John grins and wraps an arm around Rodney's neck and kisses his temple.

 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

They pick Kayla up at the Eena woman's house. "Thanks for letting her hang out here," John says through the screen door, while Kayla's struggling into her coat and hat in the front hall.

"Oh, no, it was no trouble." The woman tilts her head as Rodney comes up onto the porch. "Hi," she says. "I'm Tina Horowitz. I don't think we've met."

"Rodney McKay." Rodney shakes his head, a little bit bewildered, and Tina -- _Tina_ ,  
John repeats in his head, hoping it'll stick this time -- comes outside and shakes  
his hand, her grip lingering a few seconds too long.

"And you're a friend of John's? A cousin?" Tina's perfectly plucked eyebrows lift, her lips curving into a charming, predatory smile.

There's a pause. "Rodney's my other daddy," Kayla says, shoving the door open and joining them on the porch, still pulling her hat down over her ears.

"Oh," Tina says. She removes her hand from Rodney's arm, looking stunned. Rodney, if it's possible, looks even more stunned, but also ridiculously pleased. "I... didn't realize."

John's probably enjoying her reaction a little too much, although he tells himself he wouldn't be if she hadn't been coming on to Rodney so blatantly. "It was Rodney's mother's funeral," he says.

" _Oh._ " Tina blinks and recovers. "I'm so sorry."

"Thanks," Rodney says, apparently relieved that things are going back to normal.

"Was it sad?" Kayla asks. She looks up at Rodney, watching for his reaction.

"Yes, yes, very sad," Rodney says.

Kayla nods. "It was sad when my mom died, too."

Her friend Emily is loitering on the other side of the door. "Does Kayla have  
to go now?"

"Yeah, but you guys can get together again soon, okay?" John says. "Maybe at our house next time." He glances at Tina to see how that's taken; she doesn't seem upset at the prospect, at least.

"Okay." Emily waves and disappears again, and they go home.

That night, after Kayla is in bed, Rodney slips into the bathroom when John's taking a shower and gets in with him. They usually take morning showers, both of them, but there's something about being at a cemetery that makes John feel, dramatic a thought though it is, like he wants to rinse death off his skin.

Rodney hugs John from behind, resting his chin on John's shoulder. "What a day."

"Yeah," John says. "Worse for you. How're you doing?"

"I'm okay." It's just like Rodney to downplay his emotional state, though, the same way he's a drama queen about every splinter or scratch. "Do you want to have sex?"

"When do I _not_ want to have sex?" John turns around and kisses Rodney, who kisses him back with desperation, clinging to John with both hands on his hips. He's a good enough kisser that it's at least a minute before John realizes that Rodney's not hard, not aroused. John keeps kissing Rodney anyway, taking his time in moving things in a more tender direction until he thinks he can get away with suggesting, "Let's go to bed."

Rodney nods and they get out of the shower and towel themselves off. In bed, Rodney seems lost, exploring John with tentative touches until John, not knowing what else to do, pulls Rodney close and just holds him. "Say it again," Rodney requests.

"Say what?" John asks.

"The thing you said before."

John knows this isn't the time for pretending he still doesn't know what Rodney's talking about. "We're for good," he says, rubbing Rodney's lower back, feeling the tension relax. "You're my... you know. Partner." God, it sounds lame when he says it like that, but he means it. "That's not gonna change."

"I need you to promise me something," Rodney says, very seriously.

"Okay," John says. There's silence. "You have to tell me what it is."

He's aware of how still the house is, and how dark the room is. Must be a new moon. "No," Rodney says finally. "Never mind."

"Hey, come on. You can't start a conversation like that and then bail on me."

Rodney stiffens and pulls away, gets up. "Watch me," he mutters, mostly under his breath like he thinks John won't hear him. He starts getting dressed. "I'm going to go do some work. I'm far enough behind as it is."

Shifting across to the doorway, John blocks Rodney's only way out of the room. "Believe me, there's nothing I'd like better than to pretend none of this is happening," John says. "You think I want to talk about this? But we need to. _You_ need to."

"You don't know what I need," Rodney snaps.

"Bull. What is it you were going to have me promise?"

Rodney's quiet, standing inches from John in the darkness. "I don't want to do this now."

Determined, John pushes the issue. "Yeah, but you've gotta do it sometime. Might as well get it over with."

For a really long time, he thinks Rodney's going to out-stubborn him, but in the end Rodney relents. "I don't want to die the way my mother did, all right?"

"What?" John's not sure exactly what Rodney's talking about at first. Then he thinks a little bit -- Rodney being smart, just like his mom, Rodney being so freaked out when he hadn't been able to think the other night -- and he gets it. "C'mere." He grabs the front of Rodney's t-shirt and tows him in until they're warm, front to front. "There's no reason to think you're going to get sick the way she did."

"Alzheimer's has a hereditary component," Rodney mumbles miserably.

"Familial Alzheimer's is rare," John counters. He read about it a while back, spending an afternoon on Google. Rodney's so sharp, John figures he has to do a certain amount of reading each week if he's going to have any chance of keeping up. "What is it, less than ten percent? And your mom didn't start showing signs before she was 65, which means it was late-onset."

"Oh, yes, you're very proud of yourself, aren't you," Rodney says.

"I'm also freezing," John says. "If we're going to talk about this, can we at least get back in bed?"

"Fine," Rodney says, and they get under the covers again, rearranging themselves until they're in their more usual sleeping position with John pressed up against Rodney's back, one arm thrown over his waist. "I just don't want the end of my life to be like that." Rodney's hand finds John's, interlaces their fingers.

"No one would," John murmurs. "But it won't be. You're going to be brilliant forever."

He feels Rodney relax. "Hm. Maybe you're right."

"Of course I am. When am I not?" Quickly, John yanks his hand away from Rodney's and covers Rodney's mouth with it. "Don't answer that."

Rodney laughs, his breath hot and moist against John's skin, then squirms around to face him. John's eyes have adjusted to the dark, so he can see Rodney pretty clearly. "I love you," Rodney says.

It feels amazing to hear Rodney say it, even though he's said it before; it's always an amazing surprise. "I love you, too, buddy," John says, and kisses him.

"Even when I'm being a somewhat hysterical, alarmist hypochondriac?" Rodney asks.

"Yeah," John says. "Even then."

 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"Uh oh," Kayla says, looking at the blob of pumpkin flesh and seeds on the floor.

"Very coordinated," Rodney observes, then yelps when Kayla flicks a seed at him. "Hey!"

"No food fights," John tells them. He gets a paper towel and wipes up the mess, glancing at Kayla again because he can't help but be a little nervous about any activity that includes using a large butcher knife. Thankfully, though, she's moved on to the little orange plastic pumpkin-carving tools.

Rodney looks irritated. "She started it," he grumbles.

"You were teasing me," Kayla says, pushing back the witches' hat she's wearing. The robe she'll wear later for trick or treating is crammed onto the shelf beside Elizabeth's dust-covered cookbooks; John makes a mental note to brush off the robe before Kayla puts it on.

"I didn't sign on for _two_ kids," John says. He bumps Rodney with his hip.

"Working with sharp knives here," Rodney says.

"Mine's a ghost," Kayla says, tilting her head to look at her jack-o-lantern. "Can a pumpkin be a ghost?"

"Sure," John says. He's gone with his own typical method of carving -- two triangles for eyes, one for a nose, and a really huge grinning mouth. It takes about three minutes and it looks great. Looking at Kayla's, which has a small circle for a mouth like it's surprised, he adds, "It looks good."

"Rodney's is the best," Kayla says, gesturing.

"That's because I'm spending _more_ than three minutes on mine," Rodney says.

"Mine looks good," John protests.

Rodney glances at him and nods. "Yes, it does. It's probably looked good the last six years you carved it like that, too."

John figures it's pretty swift of him to manage to close his mouth after half a minute. "How'd you know?"

"Please. You think I can't tell?" Rodney pays close attention to what he's doing, gives his pumpkin another few careful adjustments, then stands back, looking satisfied. "Okay, I'm done. What do you think?" He turns the jack-o-lantern around so they can get the full effect -- a haunted tree, complete with gnarled branches and a fairly scary looking face.

"Wow," Kayla says, suitably impressed. "Can we put a candle in it? To see?"

"What are you, insane?" Rodney asks. "Don't you realize what a fire hazard that is?"

"We'll be careful," John says. He's already got candles and one of those long-handled fireplace lighters ready -- he puts one candle into each jack-o-lantern, lights them, and goes over to shut off the kitchen light. It's not dark out, but the sun's started to go down and the light is fading enough that the jack-o-lanterns glow.

"We can put them on the porch, right? When we go out?" Kayla pushes her hat away from her forehead again -- it's a little too big and keeps sliding forward.

"Not with the candles lit," John says, wanting to back Rodney up on that one. "But yeah."

Rodney doesn't say anything. He's looking at the jack-o-lanterns, lined up on the table.

"And we can go out after dinner?" Kayla asks. They've been over this a dozen times, but she's excited enough that she has to keep asking.

"Yes," John says. "After dinner." There's chili in the crock pot -- a couple of cans of the prepared stuff, with a package of browned ground beef thrown in for good measure -- and still-warm cornbread on the stovetop.

He reaches for the light switch, and Rodney says, "Wait a minute."

Puzzled, John does.

"My mom used to bake cookies with us for Halloween," Rodney says. He sounds the way he does when he's making an effort.

"Chocolate chip?" Kayla asks, hat sliding forward again.

"No, sugar." Rodney reaches out absently, like he's not even thinking about it, and pushes it back into place for her. "With colored icing. She had a bunch of cookie cutters -- you know, bats and cats and pumpkins. There was a witch, too, although I suppose these days that would be considered politically incorrect."

Kayla frowns. "What's politically incorrect?"

"Not being respectful of other people's religions, no matter how cracked they are," Rodney says. The candle in Kayla's pumpkin flickers and spits, making the shadows on the wall dance. Mister Mew, whose unfortunate name has long since stuck, wanders into the kitchen and looks up at the three of them. "I just... I wanted to tell you about her. About how she used to be, before she got sick."

"You can," John says gently. "Whenever you want."

Rodney takes a deep breath, then starts. He talks about how she used to read to him and Jeannie, letting them stay up past their bedtime because reading was at least as important as sleep, until the smell of singed pumpkin prompts John to blow out the candles. Then, while they eat dinner with the lights on, he describes how she helped him figure out what to major in at school. He winds down around the time Kayla puts on her costume -- John has to brush the dust stripes from the black fabric.

Kayla asks a question that's an important one to kids. "Did she take you trick or treating?"

"Yes, of course she did," Rodney says.

"Did she kiss you goodnight at bedtime? When you were little, I mean?"

Rodney smiles. "Yes. Every night."

"Then she was a good mommy," Kayla announces, adjusting her hat. "Just like mine. Come on, let's go!" She runs for the front door, where John and Rodney can hear her putting on her shoes.

"We have to put out the jack-o-lanterns," John calls. Instead of picking any of them up, though, he puts his arms around Rodney and hugs him. "Thanks," he says. "For sharing your mom with us."

"I wish I could have done it for real," Rodney says. "I wish you could have known what she was like before she got sick. She was... really something."

"I'll bet she was." John hears the front door open. "Stay in the yard!" he yells to Kayla.

"I will!"

"We should get these pumpkins out on the porch," Rodney says, brushing his lips over John's slowly.

Sex hasn't been all that frequent in the past few weeks -- not that John's complaining, because only an asshole would do that under the circumstances -- and his body responds eagerly. "Yeah," he says. "We really should." He pulls Rodney closer and kisses him again.

Rodney moans a little bit and clings to him. "Kayla... Kayla's waiting for us."

"I know," John says, barely separating their lips. "We're going. Ten more seconds."

The screen door creaks open and Kayla calls, "Daddy!"

"Yes, yes," Rodney calls back, pulling away with obvious and gratifying reluctance. "We're coming!" He steps over to the table and scoops his and Kayla's jack-o-lanterns into his arms. "Hurry up; we'll never hear the end of it if she doesn't have enough time to collect obscene amounts of candy." He pauses and looks back at John. "But hold that thought. Okay?"

"Okay." Grinning, John picks up the last pumpkin and follows him out onto the porch.

 

 

End.

Many thanks to M.E. Curtin, Ely_Jan and Bethynyc for the advice, help and beta reading.  
[Leave feedback in WG's LJ](http://wesleysgirl.livejournal.com/667539.html?mode=reply).  



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